


Fixer Upper

by DarkMoonMaiden



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoonMaiden/pseuds/DarkMoonMaiden
Summary: Fury’s grin was sharklike, and dread crawled up Peter’s spine. “You said you wanted a project to keep you busy,” he said, gesturing out the car window at the dilapidated house. “Here you go.”After Peter's identity is outed to the word by Mysterio, he's whisked away to the middle of nowhere. While he waits for the world to calm down, he focuses on renovating the abandoned house he'd been tossed in, and trying to rein in a certain eccentric mercenary.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	Fixer Upper

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse me while I proceed to project my escapism fantasy onto my favorite characters, because there is _*literally nothing else that brings me joy right now*_

Life had fallen apart quicker than Peter could say, “Fuck.”

As much as he questioned Nick Fury and some of his methods, Peter did have to say that the man certainly acted fast. By the time he’d rushed home, Fury’s men were already there fielding away curious and angry people while they packed his things. Cameramen in news vans were already rushing to set up their equipment, while a woman in casual clothing angrily talked to them.

When Fury saw Peter release his web and land on the sidewalk, he immediately went into motion, grabbing the hero by the arm and ushering him into the backseat of a waiting car. 

“Fury, what’s--”

The man slammed the car door shut before Peter could even get his question out, leaving the teenager to sit in stunned silence. The crowds were growing, angry faces trying to peer into the tinted windows, and he could hear muffled police sirens growing closer. He awkwardly shimmied his backpack off, tugging the change of clothes out. Deeper in his bag, his phone hadn't stopped buzzing since he'd first seen the news report.

He'd been staring in disbelief as call after call pinged his phone when the woman who had been menacing the news reporters tossed a few bags into the trunk. She climbed into the front seat while Fury got in on the passenger side. 

“Phone.”

“Where’s May?” Peter hadn’t seen her through the entire ordeal, and (as far as he could tell) none of the incoming calls on his phone were from her.

“We already have her on the way to a safehouse with a few of my best men,” Fury said. "In a few days, we'll move Mrs. Parker somewhere more permanent." His voice was unnaturally gentle, lacking the usual edge, and it almost sent Peter into hysterics.

“What do you mean by that? What, like--like Witness Protection?  _ Witness Protection _ ? Just--you're just gonna give us new names? Put us in the middle of nowhere? Use that weird camouflage, new face making technology?”

“There are more than a few people out there that are expecting us to do that, and know what to look for,” the woman smoothly explained from the driver’s seat. “Moving you somewhere remote and separating you two is the best solution, until we can get everything smoothed out.”

“And how long’s that gonna take? To smooth everything out?”

Fury didn’t respond, and Peter’s stomach twisted into knots. In his hand, his phone buzzed again, showing a call from Ned. He denied the call just as another from an unknown number rang.

“Give me your phone, Parker,” Fury repeated. “It’s a vulnerability we can’t allow.”

“Just--can I call May?” Peter rasped out. “I need to talk to her. Just for a minute. Please.”

Fury paused for a moment, before sighing and pulling out his phone. He pressed a few buttons and then tossed it to Peter in the backseat. “Use this one. It’s secure.”

Peter nodded rapidly, putting the phone to his ear. "May?"

“ _ Peter _ ?”

Relief rushed through him, making Peter lightheaded. “Aunt May, oh my god, are you alright?” he asked, the words tumbling out of him. “Are you safe? Did anyone get to you?”

“ _ I should be asking  _ you  _ that! Peter, what the hell happened? Who--who  _ was _ that? Why did you say those things _ ?”

Tears stung Peter’s eyes. “You know that’s not how it was, you  _ gotta  _ know it wasn’t like that--”

“ _Sweetie, of_ course,” May said through the phone. “ _I raised you. I know you wouldn’t--_ ” She cut herself off and took a shuddering breath. “ _We’ll talk about that later. But are you hurt?_ _Where are you going_?”

Peter let out a hysterical laugh. “Mr. Fury hasn’t told me where we’re going, but judging from the lack of civilization for a few miles, I’m guessing the middle of nowhere."

_"Don't ignore the first question, Peter,"_ May said, voice menacing. _"Are you hurt?"_

I’m--yeah, I'm okay. I'm kind of still freaking out, and I think a cop tried to shoot at me?" he said, voice breaking as it rose in a question. "But they missed. I’m okay. ”

He heard May breathe deeply. “ _ Okay. Okay, that’s  _ good. _I'm glad you're not hurt. And i_ _ t’s better for you to isolate right now, away from people. We’ll get this sorted out, Peter. And then I’m gonna wrap my hands around the throat of those fucking news reporters who can’t be bothered to fact check  _ anything _! Who in their right mind would release the name of a  _ teenager _ , barely out of high school-- _ ”

Peter let her rant for a bit, finding her anger oddly soothing. Even in the situation they were in, she wasn’t going to back down or go out quietly, and he tried to match her energy. But eventually, Fury made a motion for him to wrap up the call, and even though Peter made him wait another five minutes, he knew he couldn’t stay on the phone forever.

“ _ Stay safe, honey. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” _

He barely managed to croak out a response, his throat closed up from unshed tears. Ending the call, Peter handed the phone back to Fury. 

“Your phone too, Parker.”

Peter groaned, letting his head loll back in defeat. He dug out his cellphone and handed it over to Fury, who turned it off and stowed it in his jacket.

“Do I get a new, super secret cellphone?"

"Nope."

"Wh--then how am I supposed to get ahold of you if I get in trouble?” Peter asked in disbelief. “Just scream into the wind and hope for the best?”

“There’s a landline,” the agent said blandly. “We’ll call you with updates, and the numbers for our cells are on the fridge.”

It felt distinctly like Peter was being lectured before his parents went out of town, and he let them know as much. When Fury shot him a venomous glare through the mirror, he quickly moved on. 

“But—what am I supposed to do without any electronics?” Peter tried again. “There’s only so many puzzles a guy can do before he goes nuts. I can’t even have  _ anything?  _ Any sort of project?  What if it's something that doesn’t connect to the internet? How am I supposed to—“

“It’ll be taken care of,” Fury interrupted. His tone brooked no room for argument, and Peter’s jaw closed with a click. “We’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

As the drive continued and they drove further away from the city, the panic faded and numbness seeped in. He was able to pull on a sweatshirt and joggers over his Spider-Man suit and stuffed the mask deep into his backpack, hidden under the bandaids and ibuprofen he always carried around.

Fury was on almost back to back calls, barking out instructions and organizing his teams. Peter found himself idly wondering if the man was always this busy, or if it was just because of the spectacularly fucked up situation they were in.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and tried to tune out the conversations.

Peter just prayed that Fury had forgiven him for the whole Italy debacle.

***

Fury had apparently  _ not _ forgiven him for Italy, and was  _ more _ than happy to take what Peter had said about a ‘project’ in the most literal sense.

The house wasn’t the worst he’d ever seen--it wasn’t about to be  _ condemned _ or anything (or at least he couldn’t tell from the outside)--but it was...in the middle of nowhere. There were no houses around, and the last town they’d passed was miles and miles away. He could count on one hand the number of cars they’d driven by in the past hour.

It made sense, of course—Peter’s face was plastered everywhere, especially on social media. What better way to circumvent addressing the whole thing than to go hide in the woods?

That didn’t mean he was comfortable in the  _ slightest  _ with the situation, but he understood. 

“D-Director Fury?” Peter squeaked, staring with wide eyes at the house in front of him. “What...is this?” Behind him, the agent had stepped out to help with pulling his bags out of the trunk.

Fury’s grin was sharklike, and dread crawled up Peter’s spine. “You said you wanted a project to keep you busy,” he said, gesturing out the car window at the dilapidated house. “Here you go.”

Without saying anything else, the female agent drove down the gravel path to the road, and moments later, Peter was left in the silence of the forest with only the faint sound of birds and the car engine that was quickly fading to nothing.

The door pushed open with surprising ease, and when Peter looked closer he saw it was because at some point, part of the door frame had broken off, leaving the door to swing freely open. Whoever had been there before had been kind enough to leave a chain lock. 

“Easy fix,” Peter said aloud. He could struggle his way through replacing a door frame. It couldn’t be  _ that  _ hard. 

He dragged the bags into the house, leaving them in the entry foyer. He closed the door, sliding the chain lock into place. He stared at the gap left between the door and the doorway.

As he went further inside, it got worse. 

The inside was a mishmash of styles and in various stages of decay. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls, but one room by the kitchen (which, as promised, had a landline and numbers on the fridge) had been repainted and recarpeted. There were broken floorboards and a few cracked windows, but the elegant dark wood cabinets and pillars had stood the test of time. A staircase with a precariously leaning railing led up to the second floor, and the steps creaked when he walked up them.

Looking at everything he needed to do, Peter felt dread start to tickle the back of his mind.

It was  _ still going _ to be okay, he told himself as he opened one of the doors. The bathroom inside was covered in a fine layer of dust, with murky water in the bathtub and the toilet bowl filled with something he refused to think about.

It was going to be  _ fine _ .

As he walked back down the stairs for his bags, the steps creaked dangerously, before one of the boards finally snapped under his foot. If it wasn’t for the steadying hand Peter had on the wall (God knows he didn’t trust the railing), he would’ve toppled to the ground floor.

“It’s. Going. To. Be. Fine,” he said to the empty house, voice bouncing off the walls.

***

Peter didn’t know how long the mattress up in the second floor bedroom had been there, but Peter was grateful for the bed to crawl into, even if it was bare of sheets and lacked a boxspring. There was only the ceiling light to illuminate the bedroom, casting a bluish tint to the room. 

The two bags he'd been left with were mostly filled with clothes, but there was also a license with his picture but a fake name, and a credit card with a matching name. There was also a wad of cash further in the bag, and a few toiletries, but it worryingly lacked...anything else.

Peter changed into a new change of clothes, finally able to take his suit off, and pulled out a throw blanket from the bags. He sat on the corner of the bed, wadding two sweatshirts together to use as a pillow.

As he heaved himself to turn off the light, he sourly decided that that was gonna be the first thing he took care of--the few lightbulbs that weren’t burnt out weren’t flattering in any way, shape, or form, and he’d be damned if he accidentally fell down the stairs because of a broken light.

Aunt May had always been a stickler for lighting—the lightbulbs  _ had  _ to be warm-toned, because everything else “makes it feel like a horror movie, and how the hell am I supposed to watch TV when I think someone’s gonna  _ murder  _ me?”

He wished she was there right now. He’d screwed up, badly, and all he wanted was to be home with May, watching TV with her and eating takeout. 

God, Peter wished  _ Ben _ was there right now.

A sob ripped through him at that admission, and he pulled the blanket tighter around him.

Almost an hour later, when the tears finally subsided, Peter was exhausted enough that none of the new sounds (or lack thereof) kept him up. The low hum of insects and the occasional chirp of birds replaced the roar of cars driving passed his old apartment. Part of him knew that when he wasn’t as tired, the sounds would crawl under his skin, and he sensed there were more than a few nights devoid of sleep in his future.

Eyes puffy and dragged down with exhaustion, Peter let out a shaky sigh. Throwing his arm over his face, he queasily drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/kudos are much appreciated. I'll hopefully have the next part up in a couple of weeks!
> 
> If you have a spare dollar or two, I'd be grateful: ko-fi.com/continuitygains


End file.
